


Struggle and Triumph

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Good versus Evil, Healing, Married Couple, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: Upon hearing of Ar-Pharazôn’s order to chop down Nimloth, Tindcúwen urges her husband to save the tree.





	Struggle and Triumph

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



The White Tree took honor in their home by the entrance, greeting each visitor with its splendid famed branches and silver leaves, captured brilliantly by the hands of the embroider. It was a tapestry given to Tindcúwen by her sisters to celebrate the day she wed Isildur. Every morning the glimmering image of fair Nimloth would greet her on the way to the kitchen or to the patio. Even Isildur would crack a smile as he would pass the tapestry, admiring her sisters’ handiwork. 

“Have you ever gazed upon Nimloth herself?” he asked one day as they ate, “for your family seems quite taken with the tree.” 

“In Armenelos?” Tindcúwen said. “Only in our mind’s eyes, constructed by the many tales that followed our more prestige friends who traveled there!”

Her handmaiden looked up with amusement on her face, but Elendur, Tindcúwen and Isildur’s eldest son, was frowning. 

“Why are you so gloom, dear son?” Tindcúwen asked. “If you think I am grieved I may never gaze upon Nimloth with my own eyes, do not despair! Her mere existence gives me joy!” 

“Have you not heard?” Elendur said. “Ar-Pharazôn has ordered for Nimloth to be chopped down in a fortnight. I’ve heard many speak of this in the village.” 

“Chop down Nimloth the fair?” Tindcúwen leaned back in her seat, staring at Elendur. 

“Now you have grieved her, my son!” Isildur laughed, though he too was now frowning.

A few moments passed in silence, thick and tense, before Tindcúwen stood up and left the dining room. Isildur followed, though his pace was slow and contemplative. He gazed upon the tapestry one last time before making his way upstairs to where he had seen his wife go. 

She was gazing out a window then stood back and covered her face with her hands. Approaching, he cupped her shoulder with his hand. 

“Husband, you cannot have Nimloth torn down,” Tindcúwen said sharply. “The tree has come from the elven lands we only know in tale.”

“What can we do about it? Ar-Pharazôn is far from reasoning. Ever since he had taken in that _Annatar_ as a guest he has not been right. And contact with Tar-Míriel is near impossible. We have tried, my dear, but her power on her own land slips more each day. I know how much you love the tree, but its time has come.” 

Tindcúwen stood there for a few moments as he glanced out the window. Finally she gave a heavy sigh. 

“Nimloth was a gift to the Númenoreans from the elves of Tol Eressëa whose tree was Celeborn, who was himself a seedling of the tree Galathilion who resided in Tirion where the great Light Elves once lived together before the Dark. And Galathilion was made in the liking of Telperion who did not survive when the Black Foe stole his light.” 

“Fascinating history. So what are you trying to tell me?” 

“That Nimloth is more than just a tree. She is a symbol.” 

“And why do you tell me to risk my life for a symbol?” 

Tindcúwen smiled. “A symbol means much more than you are giving it credit. Why do you think the one who calls himself Annatar — Sauron — wishes to chop it down? Does it obstruct his view from his window? No. The sight of it reminds him of his enemies’ continual survival. His master had stolen the light of the Two Trees but still one lives on in memory of its descendent. That tree carried on to the islands of Tol Eressëa and to here, its legacy passed from elf to man. The story of struggle and triumph is passed on with it. He wishes to chop down something that has a history, the history of our victory over darkness.” 

Isildur listened to her words in silence, and when she was done, he stood in contemplation for a long while. He made his way to the window and glanced out at the sunlit skies. The moon could still be visible, a silvery white half-orb hidden among the clouds. 

“Give me time,” he finally said. “We will formulate a plan of rescue, however one may rescue a tree rooted to the ground.”

*

The fateful moment passed with Tindcúwen barely able to sleep that night. The agreement had been for Isildur to head out alone and in disguise. They had gone over their plan many times to the point that Tindcúwen could envision every moment in detail: of her husband traveling up the marble steps and past the many lines of guards, to the tree which required their aid.

Their plan would get him to Nimloth safely. And still she worried. 

Somehow, as unlikely as it had seemed, she had fallen asleep and awoke to the sound of a shadow stirring in her room. Sitting upright in her bed, she gasped and reached for the candle before realizing who it was. 

“Isildur! Husband, are you all right?” 

She could see that the man was hunched over in the shadow, knees on the ground and body curled, one arm under his torso. 

“There were more guards than either of us anticipated, more than anyone had ever seen in Armenelos,” Isildur said. His voice came hoarse, weary from the skirmish that must have taken place. There was something else to his voice, something which Tindcúwen could not well put a finger on, but she slipped from her bed and crouched before her husband. “I snuck in as we had planned, my love. Nimloth still stood but it would be her final night. It was as I was making my escape that I was assailed. Guards from every direction had been alerted to my whereabouts and had come to stop me. I barely made it out alive.” 

That was when the tiny silvery light caught her attention and she looked down. Despite the worry for Isildur, she smiled at the sight of the white fruit, gleaming as pristine and opaline as the moon itself. 

“You’ve done it!” she said. “Now you must rest! I will call for the healers imm—”

Isildur chuckled sadly as he studied her face. “By all counts I should not even be here.” 

Tindcúwen searched his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“ _I barely made it out alive_ , my dear. I do not use these words lightly. My wounds from the King’s guards were grievous. I managed out barely alive and had traveled only far enough to ensure they could not track me down before I collapsed behind some markets. I should have died. I was bleeding, but as I lay there, I felt my energy slowly return. When I looked down I noticed I was still cradling the fruit I had taken. A single sapling from its leaf had dripped onto my arm, over a wound sustained in the battle, and it had become healed in that time. And the effect traveled; this single drop had somehow healed me all over.”

Now Tindcúwen realized what was in Isildur’s voice that she could not pinpoint before. The awe even shone in his eyes. 

“Tindcúwen, you have chosen well in encouraging me to rescue a fruit from Nimloth before they chopped her down. She is more than symbol of triumph and victory. She _is_ the very essence of survival!” 

Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes as she studied the fruit. “We must plant the seeds as soon as we can in our home, so that no sooner will Nimloth be gone before her child will start growing. We cannot let go of something as dear and vital as this.” 

“Indeed,” Isildur agreed. “Though I walked through hell to witness this, I must thank you for giving me the insight of the White Tree. So long as the line of the gods’ holy light carries on, evil shall not ever claim us.” 

Smiling, he cupped Tindcúwen’s cheeks in his hand and pulled her close for a kiss as the fruit of Nimloth, cupped safely in their joined hands, glowed beautifully in the darkness.


End file.
